


Drowning in plain sight

by chanderson



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: Understanding dawns on Q. The movie — the girl. Drowning.Vesper.---James has a panic attack. Q tries his best to comfort him.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106





	Drowning in plain sight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm back! 
> 
> Emo James. That's the whole story. Short and sweet.

“Are you even paying attention to the movie?” James ask, nudging Q’s forearm with his feet, which are resting in Q’s lap. Q looks up from his tablet and squints at James’ TV, which is still sitting on the floor despite Q’s attempts to buy the man an entertainment stand. On the screen, there is a brilliant flash of orange as some building goes up in flames. Q curls his lip up in distaste and shakes his head. 

“Not in the least. I am getting some good work done, though.” 

James snorts and pushes himself up on his elbow to grab the bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table. He takes a long pull and shakes his head. 

“Your loss. It’s good so far.” 

“Then hush and watch it,” Q says, squeezing James’ foot affectionately. 

“You know the point of a ‘movie night’ is actually watching the movie together,” James replies as he drains the rest of the beer and sets the empty bottle back down with a hollow clack. Q just shrugs and continues reviewing the prototype for the latest Aston Martin on his tablet, checking the specs carefully. 

“Next time let me pick the movie then. You know I hate action movies.” 

A bomb blast on the screen punctuates his point. James just huffs and settles back down. 

Q really isn’t paying much attention to the movie at all. He glances up every once in a while, but largely tunes it out. 

He’s on to checking a prototype for a new radio, ignoring the obnoxiously loud rush of water coming from the TV’s speakers — some woman has just gone over a water fall, or something to that effect — when James stiffens in his lap. It’s almost imperceptible, but Q feels James’ calves go rigid.

James suddenly sits up and fumbles around for the remote. The screen goes black, leaving Q’s tablet the only light in the room, bathing him in blue. Then his tablet pings obnoxiously with a notification from SmartBlood: James’ heart rate is elevated, so are his cortisol levels. 

“Can you turn that bloody thing off when I’m not on a mission?” James growls as he stands unsteadily. His eyes, even in the dark, are brilliantly blue — like the sky on a clear spring day. 

“I — sorry,” Q mutters as he swipes the notification away. “Are you ok?”

“I’m taking a shower.” James stumbles a little over his feet as he leaves the room, leaving Q sitting on the couch. The bathroom door slams. Then the rush of the shower through the wall. 

Q hesitantly opens SmartBlood, just to check. James’ heart rate is still much too high, and it takes Q half a second to realize what’s happening. 

He feels almost nervous as he stands outside the bathroom, rocking back on his heels. There’s no light coming from underneath the door. He knocks once. 

“James? Can I come in.”

No answer. 

Q chews his lip thoughtfully, before pushing the door open. 

James is merely a shadow through the foggy glass door of the shower, backlit from the dim moonlight coming in through the window. He’s sitting on the floor, curled in on himself like he’s trying to protect his body from harm. Q walks farther into the bathroom, hesitates outside the shower. 

“Go away, Q.”

Q barely hears James as he steps over the pile of clothes on the floor. James’ shoulder holster is sitting on the counter, haphazardly thrown there amongst his shaving cream and straight razor. 

“I’m not going to do that.” 

Q pulls his jumper over his head and unbuttons his pants, letting them drop next to James’. He folds his glasses carefully and sets them next to James’ gun. 

Steam billows around him as he slides the shower door open. James’ head is bowed, tucked into his bare knees. Q sits across from him, shuddering as cold tile meets bare skin. 

“Q!” James snaps, raising his head up to glare, angling his body closer to the wall. “Leave me alone!” His eyes are wide, shiny with a thin sheen of unshed tears. His mouth is curled into a snarl. This close, Q realizes James’ entire body is shaking. 

“You’re having a panic attack.” 

“Fuck off!” James tries to stand, but his knees give out and he falls to a kneeling position, sitting back on his heels. His breathing hitches and Q watches with some fascination as snot oozes out of his nose and over his thin upper lip. James has never looked so human. 

Q reaches for James, gently brushes his knuckles over James’ shoulder, and James recoils so violently that he slams his head into the wall. “Don’t touch me!” His voice echoes off the walls, and Q scrambles back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s ok,” Q says in a rush. “You’re ok. I won’t try to touch you again.” 

James hugs himself as his body is wracked with tremors and his breathing grows into shallow little gasps of air. 

“Get the fuck away from me, Q! Don’t you understand? It’s just going to end badly.” James hiccups, water running down his face like rivulets of blood. “I can’t lose you too.” 

Understanding dawns on Q. The movie — the girl. Drowning. 

Vesper. 

Q swallows and holds his hand out, trying to make his intentions clear. 

“James, sweetheart, I’m going to touch your shoulder, ok? You need to slow down, try to breathe. You’re hyperventilating.”

“No! Q, please, don’t — don’t touch me.” 

Q sighs in frustration and lets his hand drop back to his lap. James is like a caged animal, cowering, fight or flight in full effect. 

“Alright, I won’t touch you, but can you please breathe for me? Just take a breath — like this.” Q breathes in slowly, counting to ten, and lets it out in a slow whoosh. “Count to ten, James. Just breathe.” 

James shakes his head, even as he does as he’s told. Q nods encouragingly and breathes with him, making a show of breathing in and out. 

Eventually, long after the water grows cold, James’ breathing levels out. He doesn’t say anything as he reaches behind him to twist the water off. Q shivers in the cool air. 

James shakily stands and opens the shower door. Q hesitantly stands too, watching as James towels off and walks into the bedroom. Through the open door, Q sees him crawl straight into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin as he continues to shake. 

“Sorry,” James says after Q walks into the bedroom. Q pauses where he’s pulling a pair of boxers out of his drawer in James’ armoire. 

“Don’t apologize,” Q admonishes softly as he pulls the boxers on. He sits on the bed, eyes on James’ bare back, sun kissed and rippling with muscles as he shifts his weight. 

“It doesn’t happen that often.”

“But you were triggered,” Q finishes for him. “The movie, the drowning.” 

“I try not to think about it.” James’ voice is so soft Q almost doesn’t hear him. 

“You’re allowed to… feel things,” Q says slowly. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

“All I know is hiding.” James turns in bed to stare up at Q, eyes earnest — scared. 

“I know. I hope one day you don’t feel the need to anymore.” When James doesn’t answer, Q continues: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” James’ response is automatic. Then, after a few moments of silence, “maybe one day.” 

“Maybe one day,” Q echoes, and climbs under the covers. 

James scoots back, fitting himself into the curve of Q’s body. Slowly, Q winds his arms around James’ waist, hands resting against hard muscle. “You know I’m not going anywhere,” Q whispers into the back of James’ neck. 

“Things happen; people do things,” he replies. 

“I would never betray you, not like she d—”

“She didn’t just betray me,” James cuts him off. “She — she left. Just like they all do.” 

“Yes, well, I tend to do things my own way, don’t I?” Q squeezes James in a short hug. “I’m not like everyone else in your life.”

“But you could be,” James whispers. Q politely ignores the wet, sniffling sound he tries his best to cover. 

“I could be, but I’m not.”

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly just like making James suffer. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
